


don't look for excuses (I don't deserve them)

by golden_redhead



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, Character Study, Coffee, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, Kinda?, Luther is trying okay..., Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Siblings, Sparrow Academy doesn't exist I guess, Spoilers, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, actually I think it's more abt Five's feelings on the topic tbh, exploration of Luther's feelings abt Five being an assassin I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: He knows that what Luther seeks is closure, a reassurance that his brother, the brother he remembers from their childhood -- the brother who helped him with his homework and would sneak out to buy candy for Vanya and took the blame when Klaus broke the vase in the hallway that one time -- is still there somewhere.But if there’s something that Five learned in his many years of solitude it’s that lying to yourself always finds a way to backfire.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Luther Hargreeves
Comments: 17
Kudos: 213





	don't look for excuses (I don't deserve them)

**Author's Note:**

> AU where the Sparrow Academy doesn't exist and they just come back to their version of 2019 at the end of season 2

Five doesn’t know what he thought would happen once the timeline is restored. He doesn’t know what he expected, so busy chasing his goal he forgot to think what could come after.

There’s some part of him, that young, childish part of him -- an echo of that thirteen-year-old he once was, before he got stuck in the Apocalypse, before the Commission -- always hoped the reunion with his siblings would be that big, joyful moment. It’s a naive little fantasy, one he always knew wouldn’t come true, but he couldn’t quite let go of it, clinging to it like his life depended on it for so many years, keeping him alive through harsh winters and nights when he felt like giving up, sick and shivering, alone amongst the ruins, consumed by fever and regrets. He’s been alone for so long, desperately clutching at any memories of his siblings, longing for everything he had lost to that one stupid decision, that reckless mistake that cost him everything.

Deep down, Five always knew that it would never be that easy. 

There would be no cake, no hugs, no boasting about how _he did it, he really did it_ and proved his father wrong. He knew all that, but that part of him, the part he forgot even existed, appears to be more persistent than he expected. It seems that even the decades with no one for company that made him more cynical and rougher around the edges couldn’t quite stifle that part of him. It’s laughable, really. 

Still, it takes Luther almost a week before he approaches him, all awkward limbs and too loud steps, a mug clutched in his hands. The heavenly smell of coffee reaches Five’s nose as soon as he appears in the doorway, standing there awkwardly as if waiting for an invitation.

And normally Five would turn him down and refuse to acknowledge his presence, but, well, he always had a hard time saying no to a good coffee and Luther happened to be pretty good at making it just the way he liked it.

“Hello, Luther,” he says, his voice carefully even, and looks up, setting his notebook aside. His unfinished equations could wait. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, made it,” he tilts his head, gesturing to the mug in his hands. “For you. Thought you could use it, I haven’t seen you since breakfast.”

Five’s lips twitch in a not-quite-smile. “Thank you, that’s… thoughtful.”

Luther beams at him and hurries inside the room, setting the mug on Five’s bedside table, amusement bubbling in Five’s chest as he watches his brother’s entire face lit up at the smallest sign of gratitude. Task done, Luther straightens up, eyes boring into Five almost expectantly.

Five raises his eyebrow questioningly, reaching from the mug from where he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Is there anything else?”

“Well, um… I hoped that we could, you know, talk?”

Five hums, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a small sip, the rich, bitter taste of coffee sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He missed it so much, it felt almost surreal to be able to simply blink into the kitchen and drink it whenever he felt like it. It felt almost too good to be true, but then again, Five knew better than to take things for granted, no matter how small. 

Luther rubs at the back of his neck, nervous energy rolling off of him in waves, almost tangible, and Five decides to take pity on him, if only for the fact that he went through all the trouble of making him coffee. 

“Well,” another sip, “then talk.”

His brother takes a deep breath, seemingly bracing himself, and this is when Five starts to realize that inviting Luther inside might have been a mistake. 

“I wanted to talk about when you were working for the Commission,” Luther admits reluctantly, a nervous smile that’s just a bit too wide plastered on his face.

Five freezes. 

He slowly sets his mug down, sucking in a breath. 

“What about it?” he asks, forcing a note of nonchalance into his voice, face carefully devoid of any trace of emotion.

Luther clears his throat loudly, eyes darting in the direction of the door as if wondering if he could still back out of this conversation despite him being the one to start it in the first place. 

“I guess I was thinking about it and I still can’t wrap my head around it.” He admits and looks up at Five, meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered as if looking for help or an explanation.

Five presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t know what to say to that. If anything, Luther should be the one to understand it better than any of their siblings, having seen the younger-older version of him with his own eyes and all that. 

They sit in silence that stretches between them uncomfortably, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. 

Five stifles the urge to reach for his powers and jump out of the room, as far away as his powers could take him, suddenly feeling like he’s suffocating, choking on ash. 

“Are you okay with it?” Luther asks eventually, his words uncharacteristically soft as if he’s speaking to a frightened animal, ready to flee if he dares to come too close. 

Five can feel the irritation prickle under his skin, an itch that he can’t quite scratch, already dreading where this conversation is going. He can feel the impatient throbbing of his powers somewhere deep inside, begging to take him away from here in a flash of blue before he says a few things too many, before he lets all this pent up frustration out and won’t be able to take it back.

He can’t escape it, though. 

He knew it was coming, knew from the moment the portal spat him out in 2019, the faces of his siblings, faces of strangers long dead, staring at him in disbelief and expecting answers he didn’t have (and wouldn’t give even if he did).

He wishes he could blink out of here, pretend that Luther never asked and leave it at that before he could open that wound.

But Five knows, he knows way too well that this wound has never healed, not really. He simply pushed it at the back of his mind, hoping it’ll go away on its own.

“Okay with what, Luther?” he asks, voice harsher than necessary, but he doesn’t feel like toning it down. It’s too late already anyway. “Spit it out.”

Luther gulps visibly, eyes fixed somewhere ahead of him, nervousness rolling off him in waves. “Are you okay with having all that blood on your hands?”

Five scoffs. What kind of question is that?

It’s not like he had a choice, it’s not like he _chose_ this. It was either this, playing along with the Handler’s empty words and games of deceit or the destruction of mankind. It was either this or dying back there, surrounded by nothing but ash and bones, Five the only speck of humanity in the entire world.

But Luther wouldn’t understand and Five knows that it’s for the better.

It’s his burden alone. His siblings are far too innocent and far too young to be even able to try to comprehend what he went through and what choices he had to make in order to be here today, back at the Academy, no longer surrounded by the ghosts of people long gone. 

It’s a good thing that Luther doesn’t understand and Five hopes, he _prays_ that he will never have to understand, able to keep that naive, foolish innocence of his for the rest of his days. Five doesn’t have that luxury, he never had, but it’s alright. As long as it means that his siblings get to live their lives until they die of age instead of horrible, senseless death, then he can carry that burden alone until the rest of his days. 

It’s not a big price to pay and if given a choice he knows that he would do it again. 

Luther observes him watchfully as if hoping that his face would betray what he’s thinking about. It’s pointless, really. Five had learned how to school his face into a mask of indifference a lifetime ago, a useful trick that he always used whenever Reginald’s eyes would land on him, dissecting him like some kind of experiment, searching for any kind of imperfection. Failure was unacceptable. Being anything other than his perfect little child soldier was unacceptable.

Five works his jaw, searching for words that aren’t there.

“What do you want me to say, Number One?” he asks finally, staring stubbornly at the wall in front of him, even though he can still feel Luther’s eyes boring into him, expectant and worried. “Whatever I say, it won’t change the past.”

“Yeah, but--”

“Look, Luther,” Five interrupts, straining not to raise his voice, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his side, “whatever it is that you want me to say, we both know it’s pointless. I am a killer. I was an assassin, but just like I told Lila, it was never personal, I simply did what I was told to do.”

Luther opens his mouth, but Five doesn’t wait to hear what he has to say, doesn’t want Luther to come up with some naive, useless excuses for him. There’s no excuse for what he’s done. “I’m sorry if it’s something you can’t accept, Luther, I truly am, but it happened and there’s no changing that. I get it if you can’t move past it, but I did what I had to do to save the world and _that_ I don’t regret.”

He knows that what Luther seeks is closure, a reassurance that his brother, the brother he remembers from their childhood -- the brother who helped him with his homework and would sneak out to buy candy for Vanya and took the blame when Klaus broke the vase in the hallway that one time -- is still there somewhere. 

But if there’s something that Five learned in his many years of solitude it’s that lying to yourself always finds a way to backfire. 

If he was a better person he would stay and try to explain. 

But the truth is that he isn’t a good person -- sometimes he thinks that he’s hardly even a person -- and so he pulls at his powers, tears a hole between time and space and jumps, the coffee on his bedside table forgotten and Luther left to stare dumbly at the spot he’s been occupying moments before the blue light swallowed him whole.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote it instead of sleeping, it's 6am and I can barely form sentences at this point. It was written for a prompt I received on Tumblr and I was always a fan of Luther and Five's relationship and truly think that it's quite underrated. Luther always had this hope that Five is a good person at heart and I wanted to explore it, Also, I'm a sucker for Five angst, so there's that I guess :'D
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it, comments and kudos motivate me to write more, thank you for reading, and all that <3 Until next time!


End file.
